


Dreaming of a White Christmas

by Syven



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 16:32:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11339202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syven/pseuds/Syven
Summary: Originally written on 12/18/2006 for heather and castledown on LJ.  They challenged me to do HP/H fluff/romance.





	Dreaming of a White Christmas

Snow was falling heavily outside the window of the remote log cabin, winding billows of smoke rising from its chimney as if from the pipe of an old giant. The canopy of pine trees surrounding the small structure bowed under the weight of the heavy snow, bending down to brush their branches along the roof, eerily dangling fingertips of flora whispering a poignant song of days long past. Icy tendrils criss-crossed the windowpanes splintering out like the roots of a tree across the fogged glass. 

“Hermione, it’s your move.” Harry said, a tad impatiently, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose out of habit as he leaned his elbows on his knees. The fireplace was roaring behind him, illuminating the chess board balanced on the small table between the two reading chairs they had dragged over three nights before when they’d first arrived.

Turning, the brunette rolled her eyes and glanced back at the board. “Knight to D9. He should have been back by now, Harry. Maybe we should go after him before the storm gets worse.”

“Remus told us to stay put, ‘Moine. Look, I know you’re bored but he said it could be a few days at best and with this storm looking like its just gaining steam, we could be here for a while.” The raven-haired wizard stated patiently, his sharp green eyes watching the petite witch pace back to the fireplace.

Flopping in her chair, Hermione brushed her hair from her eyes in an unconscious gesture with a deep sigh. “Sorry, Harry. I’m just getting cabin fever. It’s been two days and no offense, but chess isn’t exactly my thing.”

“I know but there’s no books and no cards, so I thought this’d be better than nothing. There’s only so much we can…” He looked up from the chessboard to find Hermione watching him and his breath caught in his throat. The firelight danced along the lines of her rich, chestnut curls and fine porcelain profile, the flames reflected in her deep amber eyes, her head tilted just an inch to the left as she contemplated her companion. His voice had a strangled quality to it as he finished the sentence, “…do.”

Hermione blinked and leaned forward, a look of concern on her face. “Are you all right, Harry? You look a little flush. Are you sure you aren’t coming down with something?”

“I’m fine, really.” Harry blushed, averting his eyes as he licked his lips nervously. Picking up one of his discarded chess pieces, he turned it over in his fingers contemplating the figurine solemnly. “Can I… can I ask you something, Hermione?”

“Of course.” She replied without hesitation, leaning back in her chair and turning to gaze into the flames.

Harry set the chess piece down on the side of the table and clasped his hands. “What’s up with you and Ron?”

“The same thing that’s up with you and Ron.” Hermione answered coolly, steepling her fingertips pensively as she contemplated the chessboard with thoughtfully pursed lips.

He sputtered, coughing quietly before croaking out, “What?”

“Harry, everyone asks me that. Don’t you think that if there were something between Ron and I – it would be obvious by now? He’s my friend, that’s all.” She sighed in exasperation. Waving her hand, she dismissed her tone. “Sorry, it gets pretty tedious when everyone assumes you’re in love with your best friend and you’re not.”

The Boy Who Lived stood and walked to the window, looking out into the snow-covered forest quietly, his voice soft as he said, “Three days till Christmas. Doesn’t feel right without a tree, though.” He turned and looked over his shoulder at the petite brunette. “What do you say? We could find one, put it up. It wouldn’t be like home but it’d be better than nothing.”

“Sure, Harry. Let me just get my wand.” Hermione stood and crossed the room to the kitchen table, picking up her wand and tucking it behind her ear as she shrugged on her heavy parka and tied her scarf. Harry moved behind her and gave her scarf a tug, fixing the knot, his hand resting gently on her shoulder for the barest of seconds after before he stepped back to her side holding out his arm with a wink.

They spent an hour traipsing around the cabin until finally, Hermione pointed to a tree just beyond the clearing behind it and Harry leveled his wand, cutting it down with the flick of his wrist. The petite witch moved to levitate it but he stopped her with a hand over hers, an indefinable look in his eye as he shook his head ‘no’ and moved to take hold of the trunk. Hermione felt a sudden flush at the penetrating gaze but stepped up to help him as he dragged it back to the cabin.

Working together, the tree went up in no time with Hermione transfiguring common things about the cabin into ornaments and bows as Harry brought more wood in from the side of the building, adding a log to the fire with a clap of his hands, looking up at his companion with guarded green eyes.

The fireplace crackled as she handed Harry a cup of tea and took the seat across from him once more, her face rosy and eyes bright with their combined efforts. Reaching up, she curled a small hand behind her neck, rubbing gently. “Well, that’s an improvement, isn’t it?” She asked, her voice radiant with happiness.

“It is.” Harry answered, licking his lips, his tone having grown the slightest bit husky as he rose and crossed to stand behind her chair. Leaning down, he gently brushed her hand away and settled both of his on her shoulders bearing down with a pressure that made her shiver. “Too hard?”

“No. No. That feels…” Hermione said breathlessly, her knees suddenly weak and watery. Her body was intensely conscious of his proximity, his scent surrounding her and the slow, hard pressure of his hands on her. “…great… Harry?”

“Mmmm?” He answered absently, his thumbs stroking up the back of her neck slowly as his fingers splayed along the sides of her neck, the silken softness of her skin drowning out any other thought.

Her voice had a distant, dreamy quality to it as she murmured, “Why did you ask me about Ron?”

His hands froze on her body in mid-movement and started to withdraw but she reached up quickly and pressed her hand over his, holding it in place, her heart thudding painfully in her chest as she demanded softly, “Tell me, Harry.”

“Because the last thing I want to do is to come between you.” He answered, his voice hard and braced for pain, braced against the agony he expected to rain down upon his ears, faithful only in his belief that he deserved nothing and least of all the young woman whose touch inflamed him beyond all words, beyond all measure of being.

She was turning now, standing and turning, her wavering gaze finding his solid, unflinching green eyes staring at her with unguarded fear. Her hand pulled his down, pressing it between hers as she stepped around the chair to stand beside him. Their shaking breath and the crackle of the fireplace the only sound in the small cabin. Hermione repeated the question, softer now, tentative and hopeful, her heart and soul in her throat and eyes, “Tell me, Harry.”

Harry reached up with his free hand, sliding along the curve of her jaw, cupping her cheek as his thumb gently stroked her silken soft skin, brushing just under the edge of her hair, warm as the sun on a summer day. His head bent, raven-hair falling like a curtain forward to sweep in solemn whispers against her forehead as he lowered his lips to brush softly across hers, whispering, “I love you, Hermione.”

She gasped, the deafening roar of her blood pounding in her veins blocked out everything but the feel of his lips moving in slow, teasing strokes just barely touching hers. His voice was husky, thick and distance, his words dancing across her lips. “I’ve always loved you, Hermione.”

Amber eyes flickered up to meet his emerald gaze, mere inches apart and then she was moving, her hands dropping his to curl on his shoulders, her body pressing to his as her tongue fluttered out to sweep lightly across his lips. Harry groaned brokenly, his hand reaching up to cup the back of her head as his lips descending, parting hers hungrily as his free hand swept to the small of her back, their tongues moving together in a symphony of harmony and sensation.

Hermione pulled back first, with undue reluctance and a soft whimper of regret. Her gaze found his again, the fear still dancing in his eyes but beside it lay something else, hope and she smiled gently, reaching up to stroke his cheek with her fingertips. “Harry, I…”

“Don’t say something to make me feel better, ‘Moine. Don’t say something you don’t mean. I can take it.” His voice was firm, belying the minute tremble of his body against hers.

Hermione’s gentle laughter danced against the backdrop of their shaking breath and the trembling of their hands. “Harry, I’ve loved you since 5th year. I just never thought…”

Her words were cut off by the fierce, desperate press of his lips on hers, taking possession of her mouth and the curve of her back with his lips and hands. The agonizing groan that erupted from his lips vibrated against her throat as he nuzzled to her ear, suckling and nibbling with barely restrained desire, the warm depths of his voice shaking with nervous laughter, “I didn’t dare hope. I couldn’t…”

“Shh… its okay, Harry. I couldn’t… didn’t… either.” Hermione stroked his hair soothingly, whispering with firm reassurance into his ear as they stood in tight embrace, neither wanting to let go of the other but finally, Harry moved back to tug her into the chair on his lap.

Encircling her waist with his arms, he laid his head on her shoulder with a content smile as she rested her weight against him, her arm lying lightly across his shoulder as she nuzzled his hair. Tentatively, she asked, “Harry?”

“Mmm? Yes, ‘Moine?” He purred, snuggling her closer to his body.

She smiled against his hair, inhaling the soft vanilla scent of his muggle shampoo. “What do we do now?”

“Anything we want, love. Anything we want.” Harry pulled back and raised his hand to curl around the back of her neck, tugging gently to lower her lips to his.


End file.
